The Great Stone Movers

Movers of the Great Stone

Who will help me move this great stone? It lies there in a most unappealing way, if it was turned, and then all its glory will be revealed.

Man has always admired the great stone, its strength, longevity, and mysticism. Early men worshiped it as the God Baal, and today you will find variations of this symbol around the world. This discussion would be more appropriate for someone more knowledgeable than me, but I believe my simple analogy will work. Just as that early stone admirer gazed upon his prize, did ambition set into place. He imagined the prestige that would surely come as others learned of his achievement. His name would be spoken within the circles of elders and soon many would aspire to raise a stone of their own. Fame was born in the fires of ambition, leaving all reason behind.

Families also deal with this same struggle on a smaller scale, but nonetheless if allowed to go unchecked disaster surely looms close by. When our children are small, all our hopes and dreams for them seem so possible. We are even tempted to relive our lives through them in order to satisfy personal failures. But as a family we too must move this great stone. It must be turned so that all can see its glory. As the children grow stronger we ask them to help us move the stone, sometimes without explaining our motives. “Come, push harder we have little time to waste” we call out. Some are obedient while others seek out ways to exclude them from the responsibility. We sternly scold those who choose to neglect the honorable cause, and admire the ones who never question their role. But what exactly is this stone? Is it only a material object with no real worth? Are we vainly demanding our children to slave their days away only to please a notion of fame?

Vanity comes to mind, as I continue to ponder my personal motivations for my family. If this is so, what path should I have taken? Should one let the stone lie, and allow foolish dreams to burn out in the privacy of our own homes? Is a family not a unit that requires success in order to remain viable and survive for the following generations? A failed family surely ends in extinction, lost to the ages never to be heard of again. So I say my friends, “Come, let us move the stone and let all see its glory!”

CHRISTIANITY'S ORIGIN

Christianity's Origin
Christianity as antiquity.-- When we hear the ancient bells growling on a Sunday morning we ask ourselves: Is it really possible! This, for a jew, crucified two thousand years ago, who said he was God's son? The proof of such a claim is lacking. Certainly the Christian religion is an antiquity projected into our times from remote prehistory; and the fact that the claim is believed - whereas one is otherwise so strict in examining pretensions - is perhaps the most ancient piece of this heritage. A god who begets children with a mortal woman; a sage who bids men work no more, have no more courts, but look for the signs of the impending end of the world; a justice that accepts the innocent as a vicarious sacrifice; someone who orders his disciples to drink his blood; prayers for miraculous interventions; sins perpetrated against a god, atoned for by a god; fear of a beyond to which death is the portal; the form of the cross as a symbol in a time that no longer knows the function and ignominy of the cross -- how ghoulishly all this touches us, as if from the tomb of a primeval past! Can one believe that such things are still believed?
from Nietzsche's Human, all too Human, s.405, R.J. Hollingdale transl.

MONKEY MAN

MONKEY MAN http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z4ZFupjYbm4

It was a pitiful sight, the mutated corruption of nature that loomed on the road side. A jaw that pushed well beyond the profile, giving the look of an Neanderthal. Tractor trailers rushed by leaving a burst of wind in their wakes forcing debris to scatter about the roadside. A setting sun offered little comfort against the minus twenty degree high of the day. The night would be nothing short of brutal. Head on a swivel as the creature surveyed the ground for any salvageable debris. Nothing.

Two hours after dark, the creature settled in his nest under the interstate bridge. A modern day troll, saturated with urine and feces stagnated the air that enveloped the homeless vagabond. A deformed hand with knuckles the size of golf balls, retrieved the evenings sustenance. It was KFC container he had obtained earlier. Inside was a bountiful treasure consisting of an assortment of bones with tears of meat, a saturated greasy napkin, and a full container of brown gravy. Tremors told the tale of the addiction that had played havoc on his nervous system as he opened his prize. Fumbling around he put the drumstick to his lips. Blisters and cankers dominated this landscape, as their pain reminded their host as he opened his mouth. Maggots were not served with this meal; it had simply been too cold.

Dessert was as it had always been cheap wine... Luther turned up the "old bottle of rose" as he called it and took half its volume. A burp accompanied by the deep intestinal gas that would have been a horrific event anywhere else, but here it was nothing new. Hydrochloric acid mixed with his favorite alcohol was forced from his stomach to the back of his mouth. A "Chicken Barf" was the terminology. Sharp pains and burning sensations demanded his attention as the concoction resumed its former course. His esophagus was raw and porous from the years of abuse, Luther could not remember how long he had been on the road.

It was around midnight when he finally relaxed enough to sleep. The traffic had dwindled down to a sporadic one car an hour. Luther had a sharp pain in his chest. "Damn is I dyin?" He sat up clenching his chest. His breath was short and fast. A long roll sounded in from deep in his bowels and he knew it was only gas.... A stupid little grin of miserable contentment overcame his protruding jaw as he laid back down, "musa been dat ol chicken bone."

A bottle hurled through the night air exploding on the cement pylon on the bridge. Luther opened one eye, he had been on the road a long time and knew what it meant. Yes, some would say the crazy old monkey man was a fool, but Luther had seen too many fools die laughing at such ideas. He sat up to survey his surroundings, but found nothing out of place. The only other man he had seen out was a skinny white man, toting an oversized backpack. "Fool thinks he is campin," he chuckled. But he was long gone headed for Florida that morning, and should at least two state lines by now. The hour past slow, as old man winter's cruel icy breath chilled his bones.

"Go on do it,"...whispered a young voice. A teenager no more than sixteen approached the slumbering man. Broken glass gave his position away and announced his arrival. The twisted creature rose to his feet. As the youth stood fast soiling himself, the towering primate stood superior. A beastly growl was all that could be heard as Luther charged into the youth. It was not the first time Luther had been abused. He had bee set on fire, stabbed, shot, and pissed on, but tonight he was not in the mood. Survival of the fittest as Darwin would say, and the monkey man tore into the youth.

The accomplice was also in shock and hesitated before he gained the courage to assist his partner. He ran and jumped on the towering mass. Urine and feces took his breath as he flailed away at the senior. Luther had already killed the first youth. He drove his long thumbs in to the skull of his attacker. Eyes forced from their sockets made for an ominous scene. A knife found Luther's back and he knew it was bad. Enraged he wrenched the arm of his assailant, dislocating the shoulder. The sound was new to the untraveled youth, but Luther had heard it all too many times. An evil smile revealed rotten gums where a few teeth still hung on. "Damn you boy," roared the mutated beast! Luther retrieved the weapon from his left kidney and instructed the boy on the proper way to operate the device. "Like dis fool," as Luther inserted the long hunting knife an inch below the navel and proceeded north. The youth burst with fluid as the blade continued up to his sternum. "Long and deeps, long and deeps,"chuckled Luther as he fell to the ground.

Luther could feel the life force leaving his tortured frame as the cold damp air became insignificant. He could hear the youth struggling about on the ground trying to replace his entrails, but it was no use as he slipped from consciousness cursing the monkey man. Luther gave a final attempt to regain his footing, but he could not find the strength so he lamented and accepted his fate with dignity. “Wells I’s guess its time fo me to die,” no tears of regret, no unpaid debt to be paid the man was at peace and unafraid of the dark abyss of death.